"What are you doing?"

Myrddin didn't look up to acknowledge Muirgen's appalled question, busy as he was ransacking her chest of clothing. Her tunics and dresses and underthings were scattered haphazardly across the bed, and he held up a garment that looked suspiciously like a toga. "I'm trying to find your best gown. Honestly, woman… you were practically a goddess in Egypt, surely you have something better than a smock?"

"My clothes won't fit you, Myrddin, you're too tall."

He rolled his eyes at her as he turned, abandoning the hopeless cause of finding any finery amongst Muirgen's ridiculously simple wardrobe. She stood in the open doorway of the Hovel, her arms crossed and her basket of gathered herbs at her feet. "There's the wit honed over millennia, how I've missed it. I'll have you know being tall means my legs look particularly enticing in your nightgown, though it tickles places I'd rather it didn't." He ignored her look of horror. "Now, come. If you were attending a King's Ball with me, what would you wear?"

"Why is this a question?"

He moved over to the bed, examining a some of her underthings. "Because you're attending the King's Ball with me. Is this a man's braies?"

She was backlit by the sunlight outside, but he could still see her eyes narrow. "Oh, I am, am I?"

Tossing the unidentified linen garment onto the bed - it was always more interesting to remove them then put them on - he moved over to her, squeezing her shoulders. She continued to glare up at him. "Of course you are! Arthur is having a celebration to greet his bride-to-be to the castle. There'll be wine, there'll be dancing, there'll even be some of that roasted chicken you enjoy so much..."

She smiled, but her glare did not abate. "No." She slipped out of his grip to pick up her basket, carrying it over to the table. She silently began emptying it, ignoring him as she began sorting out the herbs and potions ingredients she'd harvested.

"Muirgen," he whined, "if you don't attend with me, I'll be forced to ask Nimue. Would you sentence me to that fate?"

"You can go alone. You're the Archwizard of Camelot, why do you need an escort?"

"Everyone has an escort. Even Breunor, if you can believe that. We're hundreds of miles away and I can still smell him! If Arthur's most odorous knight can somehow entice a woman to dance with him, you expect me to show up with an empty arm?"

Muirgen rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Myrddin, I look like your daughter."

"My granddaughter," he corrected with a grin. "The old womanizers will be extremely jealous."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. She finally turned and faced him, raising an arm to brush a hand through his hair, which had long since turned silver. "You don't look that old." And he was glad to say he didn't… though he was only a couple of years short of the century mark, his skin was still fairly smooth and devoid of spots. He could easy pass as a man no older than fifty summers… the advantage of channelling so much magic on a regular basis.

He caught her hand and held it against his chest. "So come with me. Just for the evening."

She groaned. "I've been living in this forest on my own for near three hundred years, and you want me to go to a ball with the nobility? I'd embarrass myself within a minute."

"I don't believe that for a moment," he replied. "Dealing with the nobles is like riding a horse: you never forget how, and you always need to be careful what you step in." Myrddin thought he was being particularly witty, but it wasn't having much effect on her. He sighed and changed tactics. "Please, Muirgen. I want to show you what I've helped build. I want to show you off."

Her lips twisted. "I don't want be 'shown off'."

He smiled lopsidedly. "Maybe not. But everything I've done has been because of you. Come see it, and be proud of it. Please."

"You're going to beg and beg, aren't you?" She sighed in defeat. "Fine, fine! When is it?"

"Ah… it's… well, tomorrow."

Muirgen's eyes bugged out of her head. "Tomorrow? And you're only mentioning this today?"

He huffed. "I've been busy!"

"'Busy' my backside! You wanted me pressured to say yes!"

"I would never!"

"I taught you how to be sneaky, you brat! Out! Thanks to you, I've got a day to get ready and clean this mess!" She spun him around and began pushing him to the door. A final shove sent him stumbling outside. "If you darken my step before midday tomorrow, I will hex you and you'll be standing through Arthur's dinner. Understand?"

"Ah… does that mean I'm not invited to spend the night?" Muirgen's nostrils flared as she turned scarlet, and then she slammed the door in his face. He heard her stomp away on the other side. "Well, that actually went quite well," he said to nobody in particular. Pleased, he apparated away.


He knew better than to challenge Muirgen's threat to his sensitive bits, so he made sure to stay away from the Hovel until after the midday meal. Instead he spent most of his time dealing with an overexcited Arthur; Guinevere was already present in the castle, escorted by her father, King Leodegrance of Carmelide. Arthur was barely able to restrain himself… the man was near thirty years old, and yet as giddy as a teenager!

After a morning of subtle reminders to Arthur to act like a king, it was a relief when Myrddin climbed his tower and apparated away. He appeared in front of the Hovel, which was looking as welcoming as ever in the bright summer sun. Muirgen's door was open to allow the breeze through, and (since Arthur wasn't around to witness his hypocrisy) he nearly bounced through it.

"Muirgen? Are you ready? I- Whoa." He stumbled to a halt. The dinner table had been pushed to the side, and in the center of the room she stood, turning at his entrance.

She was clad in white, cloth so clean and bright it seemed to glow. The dress sat low on her hips, slit almost to the hip, the bottom embroidered with golden lace. The top left her shoulders bare, the collar dotted with jewels. It was loosely bound at her breast, though the sleeves were long, extending down past her knuckles. Blue and green embroidery decorated the hem, harkening back to her Egyptian days. A cotton band underneath protected her modesty, but even it was decorated with beads and golden thread.

She looked at him through eyes that had been carefully kohled. Her hair hung loose in wild waves across her shoulders, restrained only by a golden circlet from which hung strings of tiny gold links. Around her neck she wore a delicate golden chain, the Eye of Horus - Wadjet's Eye - hanging just above her bosom. Her skin, tanned by the sun, gave her a gold-tinged look which perfected the image.

Myrddin's mouth was dry. He'd known, intellectually, that she had once commanded power and status just short of the Pharaoh in ancient Egypt... but to him she'd always been just Muirgen, a witch of great experience but excessive humility, who didn't trust herself with authority or the power she'd accumulated naturally over an unnaturally long life. He'd resolved to coax her out of that shell, to convince her that she didn't need to hide from the world. He had never imagined such a success.

Looking at her at that moment, he saw no sign of the country-witch. He could understand why more than once she'd been mistaken for a goddess.

The divine image was broken a moment later as she squinted and smirked at him. "Well, I'll take that as a favourable review from you, at least. But what will the Court think? Is the belly too much? Too much gold?"

The question helped re-start his brain. "It's just short of scandalous, by Briton standards at least. But don't change a thing. You look beautiful… beautiful and exotic," he answered honestly. She blushed at the compliment. "Where did you have this hidden?"

"I visited my cache near Abydos."

His eyes went wide. "Abydos? Muirgen… when? I only saw you yesterday!"

"I went right after you left."

"How did you get there and back in that space of time? That's at least six apparitions, one way!"

"For you, maybe." She smirked, sauntering over and running a finger down the line of his jaw. "I guess the great Archwizard still has some things to improve upon."

He laughed, taking hold of her hand and leaning down to kiss her; he was giddy, thrilled that she'd actually left Britannia, even if only for an errand. She returned the affection, pulling away after a moment to look at him imperiously. "Come, you promised me roasted chicken and dancing."

Myrddin bowed properly over the hand he still held. "Yes, Mistress."

"And don't you forget it!"


He side-alonged her to his tower, and gave her a moment to regain her bearings.

Her eyes scanned the room that served as his bedchambers within Camelot. It was nearly as large as the Hovel itself, decorated with elaborate tapestries on the wall. She raised a brow at his bed, which dominated the room, expertly carved and draped in finely dyed linens. He shrugged sheepishly. "A gift from Arthur."

"I didn't say anything."

"Of course not."

There wasn't much more to see, beyond his wardrobe which contained multiple identical robes and a desk he sometimes used for notes when a thought came to him too quickly to spare the walk to his laboratory. Speaking of which-

"Would you like to see my laboratory?" He extended his elbow, which she took with an amused quirk of her lips. He suspected he was acting a bit like an overeager suitor showing off for his love, but… he was an overeager suitor showing off for his love.

He lead her down the stairs to the floor below, trying not to marvel at how she seemed to float down the hard stone stairs. He Called his staff and tapped it against the door, which swung open obediently.

The room filled the breadth of the tower, bracketed on one side by the stairs and his private room. The walls were lined with cupboards, and the middle of the room held a large table, as wide as a man was tall and twice as long. Unlike with the rest of the castle, where Myrddin tried to balance magic and muggle construction, in this room magic was given free reign, except where it might interfere with the experiments; the shelves along the long wall were extruded from the stone itself, and the tabletop was smoother than even the most skilled muggle woodworker could accomplish. Placed on the walls there were torches spelled with an Everburn charm that Myrddin's apprentice would renew each morning, producing smokeless light.

The shutters were opened to allow fresh air to breeze through and dispel the few odours that lingered from the potion-brewing apparatus along one wall. A cauldron, filled with a steeping potion, sat over the ashes of an extinguished fire. One entire wall had been smoothed with magic, and Myrddin or his apprentice could scribble on it using lumps of gypsum. Arithmancy calculations and runes decorated the large writing surface.

"Clever," Muirgen said, clearly impressed. He didn't bother hiding his pride; even seven decades after having ceased being her apprentice, he adored her approval. Her eyes played over the calculations. "Soul communion? With animals?"

"Burgos likes animals… he's trying to communicate with them. Better yet, if this works, it'll be permanent… it'll even pass to his children. It's a useful project, so he works on it with my supervision. He's really quite ready to be on his own, but he's always trying to pick up a 'secret' from me when he can. He's not as sneaky as he thinks, but he means no harm."

She hummed a low noise of acknowledgement. She slowly circled the room, examining but not touching anything, occasionally making small comments… "Oh, how clever… What? Oh. I see… Well, I haven't seen one of those in a long time..." Myrddin tried not to puff up too much in masculine pride; he was really too old to be doing that.

She paused at the shut door on the opposite side of the room. The wards on the door were strong enough to be noticed by any magical, and she raised a quizzical brow to him.

"My private office. Would you like to see?"

She smiled. "No, that's fine. Every man needs a place to call his own, where he can be alone with his… thoughts."

"You make it sound like I have saucy engravings hidden in there."

"You don't? Would you like me to provide some?"

"Only if they're self-portraits."

She blushed, her teasing turned around on her. She took it in stride, though, sauntering up to him to hook a finger around his robes. "We could skip the dinner. You could show me how comfortable that fancy bed of yours is."

Now it was Myrddin's turn to blush. Muirgen could be indescribably sensual when she felt like it… and that dress! But he'd managed to spurn the advances of pureblooded veela before. "Nice try, but I promised Arthur I'd be there. He's fairly smitten with this young woman and is worried about embarrassing himself. Not without cause, I must admit." She sighed, plot foiled. He leaned down near her ear. "The bed will still be there afterward."

He stood straight, offering her his arm again. She gave him a mischievous smile and took hold, allowing him to lead her back out of the lab. Locking the door behind him, they descended the tower, following the castle passages toward the main hall. They passed the occasional servant as they went, and each balked a bit at the tall, dark-robed wizard and the white-clad beauty on his arm.

It was so hard not to strut!

Muirgen had adopted her "market" face, the expression she wore while peddling her potions… stoic, slightly haughty, and serene. But he could see her eyes flickering over the architecture of the castle. Camelot was a fine construction, and both he and Arthur were proud of it… particularly because there was almost no magic used in its construction. The well-hewn stone, smoothed floors, and immaculate carved furnitures were the work of talented muggle craftsmen who simply wanted to display their abilities in the center of the growing kingdom.

The sound of voices and laughter greeted them as they approached the hall. Nearby the grand doors to the castle lay open, allowing in the warm summer air and the light of the sun as it began to sit low in the sky. Two knights in full armour stood on either side of the door to the Grand Hall, each equipped with a pike and a serious expression. A servant dressed in fine clothing decorated with the odd jewelry - an immigrated Roman named Marcus, Myrddin remembered - greeted each newcomer and announced them as they proceeded into the main hall.

Marcus' brow rose as he noticed the archwizard and his companion. He bowed. "Lord Myrddin, it's good to see you. The king was wondering where you were."

"Greetings, Marcus. I was simply showing Lady Muirgen around the tower. I take it everyone is here?"

Marcus cast his eyes over Muirgen, obviously appreciative but not letting his gaze linger anywhere that could cause offence. "Most, my Lord, but I should say that excepting the king and Lady Guinevere, you're the next most important. Shall I announce you?"

"Of course. Ah… related to that…" Muirgen watched him with suspicion as he leaned over to speak quietly into the announcer's ear. Marcus' eyes went wide, but at the wizard's raised eyebrow he nodded. Myrddin took Muirgen's hand and lead her a step forward into the hall.

Banners decorated the walls of the large space, lending the room colour and dignity. Tables for the upcoming meal were arranged along the walls, while nobles and wealthy merchants and Arthur's highest knights filled the room, chatting amicably. The hall itself was a step below the entrance, with a raised dais along the far wall where the king and his soon-to-be bride would dine along with her father. King Leodegrance himself, bald-headed but with a hawkish profile that intimidated many, stood beside Arthur at the far side of the room… the two men speaking as old friends should. The king of Camelot, his hair and dark beard carefully trimmed, was standing in his best trousers and tunic, visibly trying not to bounce on his toes as Myrddin had scolded him for doing just that morning.

Marcus cleared his throat, causing a few eyes to turn in their direction. "Lord Myrddin, Archwizard of Camelot!" he called. And after a pause: "Accompanied by Lady Muirgen, Queen of Avalon!"

Conversation in the hall stumbled as suddenly every pair of eyes fixed upon them. Muirgen's jaw clenched, and her grip on his arm became painful. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed through the side of her mouth.

"That is your royal prerogative, my queen," he whispered back. She shot him a look that made it clear he would pay for that comment later, but then they were moving forward into the hall, and she schooled her face into an expression of regal detachment. Myrddin did the same, though inside he was grinning like a fool.

The crowd parted before them as they walked toward the rear of the room where the two kings waited. Arthur - the cheeky brat, crown or no - beamed at his friend, while Leodegrance simply displayed a regal interest.

Myrddin bowed to both Arthur and Leodegrance as was appropriate for the court wizard. Muirgen, being a visiting "sovereign" - and falling into the role with a practiced ease that delighted Myrddin - simply nodded respectfully. "King Leodegrance. Sire," he greeted them both.

"Myrddin," Arthur acknowledged with a smile. "I was worried you'd lost yourself in one of your experiments."

"Not at all, sire. I was merely showing Lady Muirgen around my tower. She's quite talented in the magical arts herself."

"If she hails from Avalon, that doesn't surprise me at all." The King turned to Muirgen. "Even we 'muggles' have heard tale of the magical island. It's an honour to have you here, my Lady."

"Thank you for having me, Your Majesty," she replied smoothly.

Arthur glanced at Leodegrance with a grin. "By my count, we have at least three 'Your Majesties' here now. In the interest of avoiding confusion, just call me Arthur."

"And Leodegrance is more than sufficient for me," added the older man.

Muirgen smiled back, controlled but honest. "Then I'm just Muirgen."

"Ah, we might relax our titles but you are still a lady, my Lady. I couldn't be so familiar. I must be an example to my knights."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, if that's your concern, so be it."

The five chatted quietly, Arthur showing a fascination with Avalon and its nature. Muirgen carefully described the eternal summer there, and cunningly made oblique remarks to the phoenixes as if they were citizens. Her description of herself as a guardian more than a ruler greatly appealed to the young king, who saw himself in the same role.

Soon, though, the conversation was interrupted as Arthur's eyes were drawn to the lovely young woman entering the room.

"Lady Guinevere, Princess of Carmelide!" called Marcus.

Again the room parted, allowing the slender, blonde woman to approach them. It was difficult to say who looked more proud as the princess walked - not as graceful as Muirgen, but who was? - toward her father and her husband-to-be. Myrddin had cautioned Arthur about choosing a wife purely for political alliance. The bond between Camelot and Carmelide would be a powerful one, yes, but as he watched Arthur nearly hypnotized by the blonde beauty, and her matching shy but pleased smile, the wizard was glad the young king was able to satisfy both needs.

Guinevere kissed her father on the cheek, and gave a curtsy to both Muirgen and Arthur. Introductions were passed around, and the princess was not taken aback by the surprise presence of "Queen" Muirgen, which indicated that she paid attention and was quick on the uptake. The archwizard approved.

He cast a quick glance at his own companion; as a rule, Muirgen found excessive obeisance to men just for being men aggravating. But Guinevere stood tall in their presence, meeting their eyes, and her expression when looking at Arthur was one of genuine excitement and affection. Muirgen's lips were set in a soft, approving smile.

Soon the guests started seating themselves as servants began delivering the meals. "Would you join us at the head table, Lady Muirgen?" Arthur asked. "It seems inappropriate to have a visiting royal seated anywhere else. And of course I'd be happy to have Myrddin beside me as well."

"I'm not prideful, Lord Arthur. Besides, the table seems sized to only fit the four of you anyway-"

"Oh, that's not an issue," Myrddin interjected. He stepped over and rapped the table smartly with one knuckle, a wordless expansion charm extending its length by a yard. Another gesture and an extra setting appeared.

Guinevere's eyes went wide with amazement. Arthur simply grinned. "See? Myrddin will take care of us."

"Myrddin likes to show off," Muirgen commented dryly.

"Oh, yes. All the more reason to get him seated before he gets carried away." Arthur turned to his fiancee and her father, gesturing to the table. Myrddin did the same for Muirgen, smothering a grin at the roll of her eyes.

The dinner, as Myrddin promised, was delicious. Despite Muirgen's protestations, she'd never possessed "lowborn" habits, even when it was just the two of them in the Hovel, and she enjoyed her meal at a measured pace that matched Guinevere's. She was quiet as the three men - mostly Arthur and Leodegrance - chatted.

"Have you chosen a time for the wedding?" Myrddin asked.

Arthur and Guinevere shared a look. "I was hoping for next month, after the summer heat but before things get too chill. It's really more the location that is a problem."

Leodegrance sighed good-naturedly. "And as I've said, I have no objection to the wedding being here in Camelot."

"Yes, but it feels like we would be undermining your authority. Lady Guinevere is your daughter, and I'm merely the suitor…"

"I have acknowledged you as my overlord, Arthur," Leodegrance said with a chuckle. "I realize you are trying to inspire a new form of rulership, but really… sometimes you're too gracious for your own good."

"Perhaps Lady Muirgen could offer a third option?" Myrddin said. She twitched beside him, subtly enough that only he would notice.

Arthur's eyes went wide, as did Guinevere's. "Really, my Lady? Would you grant us the gift of being married upon Avalon?"

"Well, it wouldn't be near the inhabitants, of course," she said, improvising. Her eyes flickered over to Myrddin, and he knew she was planning retribution later, but she didn't show it to her hosts. "But I could prepare a place. You would have to travel via portkey, which can be discomfiting, I warn you. And you are both followers of Christ, yes? You would need a priest who does not find magic nor magicals… objectionable."

"Father Darius and Myrddin are good friends," Arthur said. "and I think he would be as eager to glimpse the magical isle as I am. If Lord Leodegrance and Lady Guinevere have no objection?"

Leodegrance was hesitant, but agreed; Guinevere's eyes shone. Muirgen shot Myrddin a look, and he smiled encouragingly.

"Then… you are welcome to make your vows upon my lands. Choose a date, and Avalon will be waiting."

The betrothed couple were clearly elated at the offer. Soon the meal was over, and the guests stood to allow the servants to clear the tables and quickly sweep the floor. A band of musicians entered, and the pleasant strains of lute and harp filled the great hall as they ran through a few introductory tunes. It wasn't long before a few couples took to dancing, and their boldness encouraged others.

After Arthur worked up the courage to invite his bride-to-be to dance, Myrddin turned to Muirgen and bowed. "My lady?" She took his hand and allowed him to lead her, though he knew she looked forward to the dancing almost as much as the roasted chicken.

That didn't stop her from hissing at him quietly as soon as she thought the music would cover her words. "What were you thinking? You invite me to a royal dinner and now suddenly I'm a queen and playing host to a wedding? I'll need to warn the phoenixes-"

"The phoenixes already know," Myrddin interrupted as he gently moved with her. "I got their approval first. They actually like the idea, near as I can tell. And you needn't feel burdened, I'll take care of the work."

"Then why ask me at all?"

"Aside from the fact that you'll need to provide the portkey because you're the secret-keeper? I want your help, Muirgen. I want to work together on this with you. Did you see how Guinevere's eyes gleamed at the idea? You have an admirer, by the way… she's already trying to emulate your mannerisms. And you were worried about embarrassing yourself?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "This entire evening has been a play directed by you, hasn't it?"

"This entire kingdom is a play directed by me," he said seriously. "But I promise you: it's not a puppet show, and I'm trying to find the happiest ending for all the characters. Especially my Mistress."

"Myrddin-"

"I know, Muirgen. Just dance with me."

They did, talk of politics and manipulation put aside. Myrddin loved when she danced; the same grace that showed in her every movement, which made her so deadly in a duel, gave her a fae nature when set to music. He knew she enjoyed it too, being able to set aside all her memories of the past and future and simply move in a way that was every bit a meditation as her morning exercises.

He monopolized her for a half-dozen dances, until Arthur stole her away for a round and Myrddin took it upon himself to entertain Guinevere. He was delighted to learn the princess wasn't as demure as her role required her to pretend to be, and by the end of the dance he'd managed to coax some witty (and hilariously cutting) remarks out of her. Meanwhile Muirgen and Leodegrance were enjoying a stilted but amicable spin around the dance floor. The knights and other nobles were too intimidated to approach visiting royalty (and Myrddin would be lying if he claimed that wasn't part of the calculation when he had her announced). So Muirgen's time was primarily occupied by the two kings and the archwizard, which he was certain suited her just fine. Many male gazes - and even a few female - followed her, and he had to fight the urge to not strut with possessive pride.

He enjoyed the evening immensely, and even through her "queenly" mask, he could tell Muirgen did as well. She had the vigor of her country living and the youth of Arthur, so she was nearly tireless. But eventually even she had to rest, coming to sit beside Myrddin, who'd had to give up much sooner. The other guests had begun to trickle away, presenting themselves to Arthur to thank him and ask for his dismissal.

"Tired?" she asked.

He smiled back, taking a sip from his goblet. He hadn't wanted the wine everyone else was drinking, so he'd quietly filled it with summoned water. "Getting there. We can't all have your energy. Even young Guinevere is starting to flag."

"She hides it well. Shall we make our excuses?"

"Of course." He dipped his fingers into his goblet and flicked a few droplets onto her gown. "Let's get you out of those wet things."

"Oh for… you're how old?"

"Old enough to know better, and old enough not to care." He stood and offered his elbow. "Your Majesty?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll need to find a suitable punishment for that, as well."

"Am I allowed to be excited by the idea?"

"Don't dig your grave any deeper, Myrddin."


"So, how was your pet king's ball last week?"

"Please don't call him that. And it was very enjoyable."

Burgos smiled, which always looked vaguely sinister on his narrow face. "There's rumours all over the castle, all the servants are whispering. Is it true you arrived with a queen on your arm?"

Myrddin rolled his eyes. Though Burgos had yet to leave his apprenticeship, he was ready to do so… and the young man knew it. So he was showing a tendency toward teasing his Master that he hadn't had the courage for before.

The two wizards were in the tower lab, taking a break from their research for a small lunch… and unfortunately giving the younger man time to ask after some of the castle gossip. "Since when do you pay attention to the wagging tongues of the muggle servants?" Myrddin demanded with a raised eyebrow.

"I pay attention to everything, you know that. They're muggle, not deaf. And you'd avoiding the question, Myrddin."

"Oho! 'Myrddin', is it? Ready to step out and stand on your own, Apprentice Slytherin?"

Burgos frowned. He sighed, leaning his head on a fist. "Maybe it's time."

"It's been time for a while, Burgos." Myrddin reached over and gripped the younger man's shoulder affectionately. "You're more than ready."

"Will you be kicking me out of the tower?"

"Of course not. Camelot is about muggles and magicals working together, you know that. You can stay as an independent wizard. But I know you, Burgos… you'll want a place of your own so you can plot and scheme. And have an apprentice of your own, I think. You'll make a good teacher."

His former student smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you, Master."

"Ah, just Myrddin now. I'll be looking forward to having a drink with you as we gripe about the foolishness of our young protegees."

Burgos paused to think. Then he smiled broadly. "That does sound pleasant. Our students. And maybe the women in our lives?" he continued slyly.

"You're not going to be dissuaded, are you?"

"It's just so unexpected! Is this the same woman you visit so often? Is she really queen of Avalon, or was that just something you told the muggles?"

Myrddin shook his head. "The same, yes. And she is the keeper of the isle."

Burgos' eyes went wide. "Myrddin… how do you know such a person?"

He answered with a lopsided smile. "Fate, my friend. And very, very, good luck."

There was a moment of silence as the two of them ate. Finally, hesitantly, Burgos commented, "The rumours won't take long to reach the ears of those in the Order, you know."

"I know."

"You look so sour. I assumed you did it deliberately… if they hear that you have the blessing of Avalon, it'll only increase your prominence. It'll attract more members."

"I realize that. And yes, I did think about it. I just wish-" Myrddin paused, gesturing, "I wish it wasn't necessary. I don't want glory for myself… I have more than enough! It's supposed to be the Order of Wizards and Witches, not the 'Order of Myrddin'. And yes, I know people are calling it that."

He picked up a small cloth and wiped his mouth, crumpling the linen square in his fist. "For the first time since Rome gained power, we might have a group of wizards and witches working together for each other's sake. I recognize the value in being a figurehead, but I worry about it all falling apart when I'm gone. I want someone to be able to take my role should something happen to me, preferably someone chosen by popular accord."

Burgos didn't respond, instead looking down at his lunch. Myrddin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just more rumour."

"And you just said you listen to all of it. What is it?"

Long, elegant fingers picked up the square of linen next to the young wizard and dabbed his mouth, wiping away the little bits of soft cheese that caught in the man's pointed beard. "You're familiar with Morgause of the Guotodin?"

"The blonde witch, yes, unfortunately. Every time I mention working with the muggles instead of forcing them, she ends up leading the counterargument."

"Well, it goes beyond that. She's been approaching the others. She's been claiming that you're more devoted to Camelot than you are to the Order."

"Judging from your face, you're paraphrasing."

"Ah…" Burgos flushed. "She may have used the term 'muggle-lover'." He held up his hands at Myrddin's incredulous look. "Her words, not mine. I may tease you about him, but Arthur's an honourable man and I have no issue with him. I don't have to associate with muggles to appreciate how your diplomacy makes it easier for us all."

"I was hoping for a bit more accord than that, but I'll take what I can get," Myrddin replied dryly. "So Morgause is trying to weaken my position. What does she offer as an alternative?"

"Herself, obviously. She's powerful enough, and she's adopting enough of your own message to be persuasive: wizards working together and so on. But she says that the idea of magicals working with - or worse, for - muggles is upside-down."

"So she's trying to gain support to oust me."

"It looks like it."

Myrddin was silent for a long moment. Then a smile broke out on his face, and he started cackling.

Burgos looked on with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "You're… taking this rather well."

"If she can make them work together enough to accomplish it, I might actually vote for her myself!" he laughed. "But I don't think it'll happen. Most of the Order… they might not be as friendly to muggles as I'd like, but at worst they simply don't care. I've spent thirty years trying to wrangle them into simply talking. I've no doubt that many, perhaps even most, agree with her. But she's asking too much of them too quickly, and she's not patient." Myrddin sighed and was silent for a long moment. "Burgos… she may try to start intimidating the members. If she challenges you-"

"I can handle myself."

"I'm aware of that. I'm not offering to fight your battles for you, you're more than capable. In fact, its your cunning and your skill at Occlumency that I'm counting on. If she tries to Imperious you, I want to know."

The dark-haired wizard leaned back. "You think she'd go that far?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But people like that tend to follow a pattern." Myrddin pursed his lips grimly. "Call it wisdom from Avalon."

The two wizards were silent for a long moment. Finally, Myrddin stood. "Enough of that. Show me the changes you made to your animal-speech spell. If you're going to be going off on your own, I really want to see your first success with that first. You said you'd found snakes more bondable?"

"Well, not really. It's more personal preference, to be honest…"


Myrddin kept an eye on the Morgause during the next meeting of the Order. The blonde witch kept her face carefully businesslike, occasionally giving him a pleasant smile of simple respect and camaraderie. He would simply nod in response, not giving her any indication that he saw her as anything more than a friendly rival or a young but well-intentioned member of their organization.

If Morgause was plotting behind the scenes, he was impressed by her acting ability. She even asked after Muirgen; and when he confirmed that, yes, he had a very long-standing relationship with the 'mysterious' queen, the blonde witch's disappointment was so artfully almost-hidden that he nearly believed it. Despite himself, Myrddin felt a little thrill. The young woman was no dunce, and other than Muirgen he rarely had a proper challenge.

He reluctantly put aside the matter; if Morgause was moving carefully, he had to council himself to patience, nor was he eager to begin persecuting her without proof.

For the moment, he had a wedding to plan - not a duty he'd ever expected to bear.

He approached Father Darius, and as Arthur had said, the priest was thrilled at the idea of visiting the fabled magical isle. Only the ceremony would be held on Avalon, which meant it could be much less elaborate than most royal weddings - which quietly pleased everybody involved, even Guinevere.

Her father would both give away the bride and act as witness, while Myrddin would bear witness for Arthur. When they were done they would return to Camelot to share the news and celebrate. Overall it would be a short visit, but Myrddin made sure to plan for some time for the muggles to marvel during their visit.

Finally the day arrived, and Myrddin met the group in the throne room. Around them, servants scurried to and fro, preparing the castle for the proper celebration which would be held later that evening. Meanwhile, Arthur stood beside Father Darius, a stride away from Leodegrance and Guinevere, the group bracketing the thrones which would soon belong to the young couple. The bride looked nervous but eager, her hand delicately resting on the elbow of her father, who stood like a rock. Arthur was managing to contain himself, but Myrddin was familiar enough with his friend to see the nervousness the young king was hiding.

Most amusing of all was Father Darius. Arthur had no patience for 'holy men' who polluted their relationship with God with addictions to earthly pleasures, and so the local priest of Camelot was a man who favoured a simple grey woolen cassock for clothing, who kept his beard neatly trimmed and rarely indulged in meals that consisted of more than plain meat, bread, and wine. But despite his austere nature, Darius was a man of easy smiles and friendly nature, who gained joy from all creation and believed everything was part of God's plan… even witches and wizards. And now, waiting to visit the magical island of legend, the priest was practically vibrating. Myrddin had to stifle a laugh.

"Are we all ready? Sire? Lord Leodegrance?" Arthur nodded, as did the older man. "Then here… take hold of this." He held out a length of bleached linen, barely more than a scarf. It had been charmed by Muirgen not an hour beforehand, and only awaited the trigger phrase, a curious set of words that amused her for some reason.

The four reached out and grabbed portions of the cloth. "Ready? Very well, then: here comes the bride." And then the distinctive hooking sensation grabbed them all and sent them whirling through the aether.

Though hidden under the Fidelius, the distance from Camelot to Avalon was actually less than that to the Hovel, and so the portkey trip was mercifully short. They slammed back onto solid earth, staggering. Arthur and Leodegrance, thanks to their extensive battle training, managed to keep their feet; Guinevere tumbled against her father. Darius ended up on his backside, but the priest was hooting and laughing, so he was obviously unhurt.

"Heavens, you must let us do that again, Myrddin!"

The archwizard grinned, reaching out a hand to haul Darius to his feet. "You'll get another chance in a few hours, Father. Is everyone well?" He received nods and assurances, though Guinevere's smile was brittle and her father was pale underneath his stoicism. "Take a moment and get your bearings. Your Majesties, Father Darius: welcome to Avalon." He gestured widely.

The four looked about with awe. Muirgen had chosen an exceptional point for the portkey to land: a small clearing surrounded by trees. In keeping with Avalon's name, most were apple trees, all of them either ripe with fruit or filled with beautiful blossoms for the next crop. A soft breeze filled the air with sweet scent, and the sun shone warmly upon them from a bright blue sky. All around them could be hear the sound of birdsong… mundane birds, yes, but also magical silver sylphs, gamayun, and distantly the familiar trilling of the phoenixes.

Myrddin watched them explore, remembering his first visit with Muirgen; he'd been too young and nervous to properly appreciate the beauty of the island, but finally he had the chance to experience it again vicariously through the others. The two kings tried to hide their awe, but Guinevere wandered freely, marveling at the richness of the short grasses and the blossoms of the trees.

Father Darius was muttering prayers of thanks under his breath. "Is this… is this Eden?"

"I'm afraid not, though perhaps that's for the best, Father," replied a voice from the edge of the clearing. The five turned to see Muirgen standing there, clad in a long flowing gown. It wasn't as risque as the previous dress the others had seen her in, but was tinted a rich red and gold, Muirgen's favourite colours. At Myrddin's urging she also wore her golden circlet, which was close enough to a crown that the others would assume such.

"Your Majesty," greeted Arthur, with a matching nod from Leodegrance. Darius and Guinevere bowed and curtsied.

She favoured him with a small smile. "Just 'Muirgen', I thought we agreed?" She turned to the priest. "You needn't fear any of the apple trees here, Father. No divine punishment will strike you for picking them, nor any particular insights. They're merely tasty. Take as many as you like. But I think you have something your companions are eager to take care of first?" She gestured toward the path behind her.

It had been Myrddin's idea to lay a path of crushed white gravel… but the pavilion at the end, set upon a small rise surrounded by flowering bushes, had been all Muirgen's doing. She'd complained vigorously about being roped into the event, and complained more about how Myrddin was handling the parts he was trying to spare her! Eventually she'd declared him a "typical man" and took over the entire project herself, thrusting the bemused archwizard to the side.

She'd obtained a rather large chunk of white stone from the southeast shore near Portus Dubris. Shrinking a block of chalk the size of the Hovel and then apparating it to Avalon was no small feat of magic; and when she began shaping it Myrddin realized that although he might have more raw power and talent, Muirgen's skill and eye for detail was still enough to awe him. From the solid block she carved a pure white rounded pavilion, with a domed roof and rounded pillars holding it aloft in a style reminiscent of Greece. The stone was polished in a way only magic could offer and then charmed for durability. Ivy was encouraged to wind its way up the pillars to the roof, and flowering, sweet-scented bushes were gently replanted to surround the structure.

Myrddin was forced to admit that Muirgen was far more of an artist than he… and as he saw the delighted look that flashed across Arthur's face, and the joy that the princess was no longer even trying to hide, he was beyond pleased that he'd asked for her aid.

The priest hastily set up an altar for the Sacrament on a marble table conjured by Muirgen. He quickly ran through a simplified Mass, nodding with an understanding smile as both Muirgen and Myrddin politely refused Communion, the two magicals standing carefully out of the way as the four guests spoke their prayers. That completed, they arranged themselves to allow Arthur and Guinevere to speak their vows. Arthur and Myrddin stood to one side of Darius, Guinevere and her father on the other. As the only other woman present, Muirgen opted to stand on the bride's side, just behind Leodegrance.

Myrddin listened with only half an ear as Darius spoke, feeling a surge of pride as Arthur and Guinevere regarded each other with affection. He often felt like a meddler in Arthur's life, which made sense because he was a meddler. For all of Arthur's virtues, he was where he was, was what he was, because of Myrddin's invisible hand. It filled the wizard with shame when he thought of how much choice had been robbed from the boy who had become king. But the choice of Guinevere was entirely Arthur's… the choice was real, their love was real, and Myrddin was overjoyed for his friend.

He looked over at Muirgen, who was watching the couple with her own soft smile. He was manipulating her, too; that she knew he was doing so didn't make it better. The fact that everything he was was due to her didn't make it better. At every step in their relationship she'd made sure his choices were his own; she'd given him power, in more ways than one, and he'd never be able to repay her.

Arthur was speaking, repeating the vows of devotion given by Darius. Myrddin found himself echoing them quietly under his breath, except his gaze was fixed on the witch standing on the opposite side of the pavilion; the other couple seemed to fade away.

As if feeling his gaze, Muirgen looked up; he knew she saw his lips moving in the same pattern as Arthur's, and he watched her eyes go wide. He glanced down, blushing underneath his beard; Guinevere had taken up her part. Myrddin lacked the courage to look at his lover's face for the rest of the ceremony, but he could see her fists clenched at her sides from the corner of his eye.

With a flourish, Darius declared the couple married, and the two shared their first kiss. Myrddin hid his nervousness to smile broadly; Leodegrance's expression was both of sadness and pride, appropriate for a loving father giving away his daughter to a good husband. Muirgen stepped forward to congratulate them both, and for a brief moment Guinevere forgot herself and hugged the older woman. Stepping away, the younger woman blushed and apologized. Muirgen laughed and reminded her that they were both queens now, and so there was nothing to apologize for.

None but Myrddin had enough experience with the witch to notice how stiffly she held herself.

Darius took his time packing away his holy items, and Myrddin suspected the priest was deliberately drawing out their time on Avalon. Alas, the couple was expected back at the castle, and the witch and wizard escorted the muggles back to the clearing in which they'd arrived. Myrddin produced the same linen scarf and offered it to them to grasp.

"Myrddin, could you stay a moment, please?" Muirgen asked politely.

He barely suppressed flinching. "Of course." He turned to the royals. "Sires, my Lady? If you could pardon me a moment? Just speak the phrase 'just married', and you'll be back in Camelot."

"Of course, Myrddin," Arthur replied. He looked as his new wife, and she smiled.

"Just married!" she said, and the four disappeared, leaving the two magicals alone.

He looked over at Muirgen nervously. Her face was still outwardly calm, and the silence dragged on. Finally, her lips parted. "What was that?"

"Muirgen?"

"What was that?" she demanded, suddenly shouting, and he could see her shaking with anger.

"I don't unde-"

"What was that demonstration during the ceremony? What were you doing?"

"I…" For the first time in his life, Myrddin was speechless. She was more angry than he'd ever seen her. "Arthur… wasn't the only one who wished to pledge himself."

Her eyes went wide, that same panicked look she'd briefly had during the ceremony. But then she flushed red. "You had no right," she rasped, even her voice breaking beneath her fury. "No right!"

"Muirgen-" he raised his hands to grasp her shoulders, but she danced backwards out of his reach. He held his palms out to her. "Muirgen, the pledge was mine alone… I ask nothing of you."

"Are you not? Did you not listen to the words? 'Until by death are they parted'! Remember that?"

"I don't understand…"

"You're going to die!" In all their years, Myrddin couldn't recall a single time she'd raised her voice so. The trees around them swayed as her magic slipped its leash, but tears were gathering in her eyes. "You're going to die, and we'll be parted, and I'll be left behind!"

"Muirgen-"

"Every time you walk out my door, I think: This is the last time I'll see him. I mourn you every time you leave my sight, and everything you do makes it worse! First I was going to lose a student, then a friend, then a lover, and now you would have me lose a husband as well? How much will you take from me?" He'd known her for nearly ninety years, and had seen her cry exactly once. His stomach clenched as tears dripped down perfect skin turned blotchy, her eyes reddened. He'd only ever wanted her to know his devotion… he'd never considered that the more he gave himself to her, the more she would lose in the end.

She spun around to hide her tears, scrubbing at her face with the back of her wrists. He gently reached out and took hold of her shoulders. "Muirgen… I can't help how I feel. I've always been devoted to you, you know that. You're the most important person in my life. I never meant to hurt you… I want you to be happy."

"I was happy alone!"

"No, you weren't. You may not have been sad, but you weren't happy, either."

"I was! I was ignorant, safe from mortals and your short little lives, and I want that back!"

"And yet you acted to save a young mortal, before you knew who I was. It wasn't foreknowledge that made you do that… it was you, and your own desire to be involved, to make a difference. You care, Muirgen. I knew that, even back then, and I've loved you since that moment."

She didn't respond, but her shoulders trembled beneath his hands. For all his reputation for having an inexhaustible mouth, words defied him. All he could do was wait for her to speak.

Then they heard a soft chirp.

The two humans looked up and saw phoenixes lining the trees around them. Myrddin groaned silently as he saw all hope of Muirgen calming herself leap out the the tower window. Indeed, he could already feel her coiling under his hands.

The closest phoenix trilled a series of notes, and Myrddin would have sworn it sounded gentle and sympathetic. Was this the same bird who'd offered him the feather for his staff? He couldn't tell. The chirps continued, and as he'd feared, he could feel Muirgen getting angrier.

"I don't need your help," she hissed. "I don't need your lectures! Go away!" More of the phoenixes squawked in protest. "Go away! Go!"

She swatted an arm through the air, sending an arc of force through the trees. Leaves were ripped to tumble crazily through the air, apples splattered, and even a few of the lower branches were torn off to fall to the ground. The phoenixes were scattered, squawking with alarm and anger of their own. To Myrddin's relief they didn't land to challenge her further, the clearing settling back into a quiet only disturbed by the rustling of the gentle breeze.

"Muirgen..."

"Go, Myrddin." His stomach plummeted. "Go, they're expecting you."

Reluctantly, almost painfully, he released his grip on her shoulders. After a moment's hesitation, the crestfallen wizard stepped back and disapparated.


"Lady Muirgen didn't come with you, Myrddin?" Arthur asked as Myrddin entered the throne room to take his seat at the king's right hand.

"Oh, no. She sends her regrets, but something came up on the island."

"Ah, a shame. I wished to thank her again." Beside Arthur, Guinevere nodded in agreement.

"Well, with any luck you'll have the opportunity." Arthur nodded, and turned back to the many well-wishers that were waiting for their chance to come before the throne. But Guinevere kept her eyes on the archwizard, and Myrddin was surprised to see sympathy in that gaze.

Myrddin used his occlumency to its fullest to present a warm, pleased face for the rest of the evening. The new royal couple received many greetings and gifts from merchants, visiting nobles… and even from their own peasants, so popular were the pair. The dinner was delicious, and the revelry spilled out of the castle into the surrounding village and beyond, to the corners of the kingdom. Happy bonfires were lit, and the entire kingdom was drained of wine. The archwizard smiled and nodded, affirmed his loyalty to his new queen, and generally acted happy… but inside he felt empty and cold.

It was as the night was drawing to a close, when the guests were being sent home or to their guest quarters in the castle, that Guinevere managed to catch him alone in one of the halls just outside the throne room.

"Are you well, Lord Myrddin?" she asked.

"Oh! Of course, Your Grace. Just a bit tired." He smiled lopsidedly. "I'm getting old, even for a wizard. I don't quite have the energy I used to."

The young queen pursed her lips, and though she was less than a quarter his age, he felt oddly exposed. Then she smiled warmly. "She'll come around."

"She- eh, wha?"

"Whatever you've done, she'll forgive you."

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny everything, but instead he wilted. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but you don't know what I've done."

"Perhaps not, but I saw her anger," she said, surprising him again. "And anger like that can only come from pain… and pain like that only comes from love. If that love is true, she won't care to be apart from you long. You'll resolve it." And with those words, the blonde queen gave him an understanding smile, leaving to seek her own husband.

He watched her go, realizing he shouldn't be surprised… Myrddin knew magic, and Arthur had learned leadership and the art of battle. It made sense that a princess and queen-to-be would learn how to judge people.

Well done, Arthur.

Minutes later he would wonder if Guinevere also possessed the gifts of a Seer: when he entered his chambers, he found Muirgen sitting on the edge of his bed. She was dimly lit by the oil lamp on the table nearby, the tiny flame casting orange shadow across her face. He froze as he saw her and her head turned to regard him, her face cast in shadow by her hair, her eyes dark shadows in the pale oval of her face.

"They were right," she said quietly, her voice barely carrying to him across the room. "The phoenixes were right. I hate it when they're right."

"Right about what?" He was confused, but he had faith she'd explain. Ask, Myrddin.

"Get attached, but not too attached… that's what they're always telling me. When I first brought you to them… they reminded me. Reminded me that you were mortal, that your time was limited. That made me angry, because it felt like they were performing your rites before you'd even had a chance to live." She rubbed her nose and sniffled, and she looked so forlorn he wanted to march over and take her in his arms. "That wasn't what they meant at all… they meant exactly what they said: your time is limited. So I have to make the most of it. But I also have to be able to let go when the time comes."

She opened her hands, looking down at their unlined smoothness; blessed and cursed to never age. "They're wiser than I am. Gods help me, they are. They can live for today and survive tomorrow. I… I either push everything away, or pull it too close. I can't find the balance. I may be like them, but I can't think like them. I can't love someone from a distance." Tears gathered in her eyes, but she rubbed them away with the sleeve of her gown before they could fall. "Why did you have to make me love you?"

His heart was in the skies and in his feet; he felt at once elated and guilty. He moved over to her, and though his knees and back protested he kneeled down in front of her to take hold of her hands. "No one makes the queen of Avalon do anything she doesn't want to do," he said softly. She sobbed a joyless laugh. "I never meant to hurt you, Muirgen. I never meant to lure you into a… trap of loss. If…" he swallowed past a lump in his throat, "if you need me to, I can leave you alone. If seeing me is painful…"

"It's too late, Myrddin. I'm here now. You're smarter than I am… what do I do?"

He lifted a hand to her chin. "It's not what you do… it's what you don't do. Don't mourn me until I'm gone, Muirgen. I made my peace with death the first time I left your home… and here I am, decades later. I might meet my end tomorrow... or a century from now! Just like any other wizard. Don't bury me just yet."

"You're not any other wizard. You're mine," she said, with a fierceness that warmed him from the inside.

He smiled and pulled her close, letting her lean into his collar, glad he was tall enough and the bed was low enough to allow it. "I've waited decades to hear you say that." He paused, not wanting to spoil the moment, but knowing he must. "I need something from you, Muirgen. I need your promise." She groaned into the collar of his robes. "When I'm gone… when," he interrupted her protest, "I want you to leave the Hovel."

"Myrddin!"

"I don't want you to stay there with nothing but loneliness and ghosts to keep you company for centuries to come! I didn't ask for your pledge to me, because I don't want your pledge to me. You're too precious to keep to myself. I want you to move on, to travel the world again, to take part. There's a middle ground between conquering the world and hiding from it, and that's what I want for you. That's your balance, love. Move on. Your feet will remember how."

She was starting to get angry again. "You can't just expect-"

"Do this for me, Jasmine. Please." Seers and other students of the schools of Divination often spoke of "True Names", a name given to a soul by a god or gods, and that he who knew another's True Name could command that person. Myrddin thought the entire concept was ridiculous. But Muirgen's name - her first name - had almost as much power. When he used it, she knew he was talking to her… not whatever identity or facade she was presenting at the moment. Her protest was frozen in her throat, and she stared at him, wide-eyed. He schooled his expression into calm he didn't feel, and wouldn't fool her anyway. But she needed to understand this was what he wanted for her.

Finally her expression collapsed into defeat, and she dropped her face to rest against his chest. "I will," she promised, her voice soft.

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly. "Thank you, love."

He was pretty sure she was deliberately wiping her nose on his robes. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"So I've been told."


She stayed the night, and he held her carefully while they slept. Their emotions were too raw for anything more, and if she seemed to flee the next morning, he forgave her for it.

He took his breakfast in his room and then visited the lab to let Bulgos know that he wasn't planning on working that day. As he'd predicted, his former student was starting to grow eager to find a place of his own, whether it be a wizard tower in the wilderness or a home in the magical district of Londinium, and was pleased to have the day to himself.

It was probably time to start pondering taking on a new apprentice, even if just to have someone else to talk to. The muggles of Camelot tended to avoid the wizard's tower, and only Arthur made regular visits. Perhaps now he could look forward to Guinevere's curiosity? He'd be elated if he could convince Muirgen to visit more often, or perhaps even stay in the tower with him. But that was definitely not something to suggest so soon after their spat the day before.

Though Myrddin were to be honest with himself - for all that he was trying to coax her out of the Hovel - he enjoyed having her there. She was his rock, his escape… the fixed point he navigated his life by. No matter what happened in Camelot or elsewhere, he knew where to apparate and find her.

He was a selfish hypocrite, he admitted in a moment of self-flagellation.

He spent the morning wandering Camelot: visiting the battlements, watching the knights train, and even making a visit to the surrounding village. Some of the muggles bowed to him; others, such as the knights, would grant him a nod of respect. It was the children of the village that truly raised his spirits, begging him with wide eyes for a cantrip or some other trick, squealing with delight as they chased the rabbit he'd transfigured from a stone. Around them, their parents rolled their eyes with amused tolerance. There was no fear that the wizard might start making demands, or hexing them for his own amusement. It was everything Myrddin had been working toward for decades.

It was a happier, calmer wizard who returned to the castle at the beginning of the evening. As he shared dinner with the royal couple, Guinevere shot him an inquisitive look, and he returned it with a smile. The new queen beamed, and Myrddin once again reflected on Arthur's good fortune.


"Are you ready for this?"

Myrddin looked over toward Bulgos as the younger wizard leaned over the railing in the building that served as the center of wizarding affairs in Britannia. The archwizard had contributed a heavy hand to its layout, and thus it was patterned after the theatres and places of public speaking he'd seen in his travels through Mesopotamia and the Far East. A large, bowl-shaped area carved from black marble, lined on all sides by stone benches, the forum forced a speaker to be surrounded by his equals. They would be elevated slightly above him, as if in judgement… a very subtle psychological effect that Myrddin found valuable, as it discouraged a wizard or witch for yammering for the sake of attention. Myrddin had spent much time in the center, and it was his turn again.

"Of course. Are you?"

Bulgos swept his wand over himself, making sure his best robes were immaculate. "I believe so. If nothing else, this meeting will be more exciting than the usual."

"Let's just hope it doesn't become too exciting," Myrddin replied dryly. Bulgos chuckled, taking his seat.

Around them, wizards and witches filed in, chatting and taking their seats. Their number had grown to nearly fifty… magicals gathering together, talking and working for their common good. It was a success he couldn't have imagined even thirty years before, much like Camelot itself. Druids from Pictland, immigrated Romans, wizards from Londinium - even some Angles and Saxons. Some were former students of his, while others were students of those students…

It was a bit disconcerting to notice he was older than all of them, and squelch the assumption that they should pay attention to him simply because he was the elder. Was this how Muirgen felt all the time?

"Greetings, everyone, greetings… if you could take your seats?" He hurried them through the small amount of ritual required at each gathering… the little meaningless gestures that nonetheless made them feel as if they belonged together.

Finally, it came time for him to speak. "For over a score of years, we've been gathering here. This hall was meant to be a place for us to meet… to learn new magics, to share news and concerns, to speak of our successes and our failures. I'm pleased to say that it has been a success beyond my expectations. We meet as individuals… we talk as equals… and we thrive as a group."

Myrddin fixed his gaze on a strawberry-blonde witch seated halfway up the rows in front of him. Morgause raised her brow, surprised by the sudden attention. "Unfortunately, equality is not on the mind of all. I have been approached with news that I find rather disturbing… and so should the rest of you. Master Slytherin?"

Bulgos stood, looking around to acknowledge all present. "Last week, I received a visitor at my tower. You are all aware of the discussions we've been having on how to guide our group as our membership grows. This visitor had ideas of her own… such as the selection of a leader, a chief warlock, based on magical power and accomplishment." The slender man shrugged. "It is an idea that I judge has merit. She asked me to raise the issue at this meeting, and thus I do so, quite gladly."

By now the identity of the 'visitor' was unknown to none; many eyes drifted over to Morgause, who had begun to look both pleased and nervous. Bulgos continued. "It was the identity of this chief warlock that we disagreed upon. Personally, I feel that the person most deserving already occupies the role." His eyes flickered to Myrddin, who bowed his head in thanks and acknowledgement. "My visitor disagreed. And when she was unable to change my mind… she decided to try changing my mind," the wizard growled. "When my back was turned, she attempted to afflict me with the Imperious Curse."

Morgause had looked alarmed as Bulgos deviated from what she'd expected him to say, and though he hadn't named her, she all but outed herself as she shot to her feet. "That is a lie!"

The room filled with whispers. Myrddin raised his hand for silence, but it was Argus Fawcett who asked the question that needed to be asked. "You seem remarkably contrary and clear-eyed for someone Imperiused, Master Slytherin."

Bulgos met the older wizard's gaze coldly. "I am a master occlumens, Lord Fawcett, and I would say my study of dark magics - and how to counter them - outstrips all here except for perhaps Lord Myrddin. It takes more than a clumsy curse to enslave me." He turned that cold, snake-eyed look upon the seething witch across the room. "I played along for amusement's sake. In keeping with the spirit of this body, I bring my testimony here, rather than simply settling it with a duel. I was to be used as a political weapon against a friend, and thus I let Lord Myrddin make the accusation."

"I do make the accusation, and it is a serious one," Myrddin said. "Lady Morgause, what have you to say for yourself?"

The witch in question was flushed with anger, and he expected her to rant about lies and false accusations. But Bulgos was as respected by those present as Myrddin himself, and she seemed to realize that simply defying his word wouldn't carry her far. Her gaze turned cold. "I say it would disgust me to have us lead by a muggle-loving fool." She looked across all present. "You would choose a man who acts as pet wizard to a muggle kingdom? Is that what you want for us all? Court wizards to empires owned by the magicless animals? You would turn the world upside down!"

"You accuse me of indenturing myself to muggles shortly after attempting to enslave another wizard! Your hypocrisy eludes even yourself," Myrddin stated dryly. "My loyalties are my own and I inflict them on no-one else. You can ask Master Slytherin, Master Gawain, or Lady Gryffindor to describe how I forced them to work with the muggles of Camelot." He gestured. "Feel free… their answers won't take long."

Nervous laughter rippled through the room. Myrddin turned to cast his eyes across all present. "Very well; one thing I will concede to you. Speak your favour: shall we create this position of 'chief warlock', to act as speaker and arbiter of this body?" A chorus of 'ayes' echoed through the room. "Very well. And who shall fill the role?"

Bulgos stood again. "I nominate Lord Myrddin." He smirked. "I'll let him sort out the problems before nominating myself." More laughter filled the room.

"Thank you… I think. Lady Morgause, I will venture that you nominate yourself?" Furious, she nodded. "Very well, anyone else?" There were no voices. "Then we have two candidates. Lady Gryffindor?"

At his prompting, the stout red-haired witch stood. "All in favour of Lady Morgause?" As Myrddin expected, there were only a handful of 'ayes'... even the most staunchly anti-muggle wizard took a dim view of bending another wizard's will through magic. "All in favour of Lord Myrddin?" The room did not erupt in allocades, but enough voices called out to make it a decisive victory. Lady Gryffindor nodded. "Very well. Welcome, Chief Warlock Myrddin."

"Thank you, my Lady," he acknowledged as she sat.

"You're all fools!" Morgause hissed.

"Your diplomacy skills could use some work before the next selection, Lady Morgause," Myrddin replied. "Assuming the others allow it, of course. You stand accused of attempting to use dark magic to influence the independent members of this body. As Chief Warlock, I propose your expulsion. You will not be permitted to return, and if in the future your actions draw the wrath of magical or muggle, you will stand alone. All in favour?" A chorus of 'ayes' rang around the room. "Very well. The members you disparage have spoken." He leaned in, and for the first time let some of his anger show. "Get out."

Apparently he'd finally pushed her too far. "Doddering old fool!" Her wand was in her hand, and a bright red bolt speared the air.

Myrddin swatted the spell aside with a bare hand as his staff appeared in the other. Before Morgause could shout another spell she was tossed into the air by the force of his Summoning charm, her incantation becoming a yelp in mid-syllable. She tumbled painfully at his feet, and with a strength belied by his age he struck her across the hand with his staff. Her wand fell from her grip, leaping up into his hand a moment later.

He held the butt of his staff at her throat, pinning her to the ground. She cradled her injured hand to her chest, her eyes going wide with horror as a wandless spell reduced her wand to powder in his palm.

"There are those here who would kill you," he said sternly. "But that is not my way. Despite your words, it seems as though I care more for the fate of magicals than you do. Consider yourself fortunate." He stepped back and swatted her painfully on the thigh with his staff. "Now get out."

As the witch staggered to her feet and scurried for the exit, Myrddin looked around the room. Impressed faces looked down at him; even those who had voted for Morgause. He stifled a sigh… more loyalty purchased with power rather than wisdom, and this time he couldn't run from it.

Muirgen, of course, was less impressed when he shared the news with her that night. "You should have killed her," she stated coldly as they shared tea at the Hovel.

"She was helpless at my feet, Muirgen."

"And now she's not. Do you really think she's learned her lesson? 'Oh, that didn't work, I guess I'll move on with my life'?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, love."

"Would you take this seriously? She's going to come after you!"

He leaned forward, looking at her intently. "Do you know that? Do you know that?"

She stammered to a halt. "No," she said. "Not like that. I don't know for certain." She glared. "I'm not speaking from what I know of the future. I speak from what I know from the past. She will never let this be."

Myrddin sighed. "I know, I know. But there's some things I can't do, Muirgen. Otherwise, she'll have won either way."

The ancient witch stared down at her cup. Between them sat his copper kettle, which was starting to show its age but was still used frequently. "Just be careful, Myrddin."

He reached across the table, his wrinkling hand squeezing her youthful one. "That, I can promise."


Time moved on, and if Morgause was planning revenge, she was being extremely subtle about it. There was no sign of her in Londinium, and he carefully shored up the wards around Camelot to make sure none but himself or Muirgen could apparate directly into the castle. Myrddin realized Arthur and Guinevere would be logical targets to hurt him, so he quietly gave the queen an amulet that would portkey her away if she came under hostile spellfire; he charmed Arthur's sword, Excalibur, with the same.

Unfortunately, the challenge to Camelot came from within.

"Guinevere is barren," Myrddin admitted one night as he sat at Muirgen's table.

She paused from where she was portioning out some stew. "How do you know?"

"I checked in secret, after hearing them arguing. It's not something they've brought to me, and I probably overstepped my bounds."

"Do you intend to tell her?"

"I think she suspects already. They've been trying for so long… and she considers it so important. She thinks Arthur deserves a son so badly… and she acts as if her inability to conceive is a personal failing." He lifted his spoon and pushed the stew around in the bowl. "She's pushing him away. She acts coldly to him, trying to thrust him into the arms of another woman, one who can give him a child. Were he any other king, that's exactly what would happen… he would have a bastard child, sufficient to secure his legacy, and that would be it. But no… he's Arthur, and bedding another woman… never. He loves her, and he will not stray, not even for the needs of inheritance."

Muirgen hung the cooking pot over the fire, coming up behind him to wrap her arms around him. "Not unlike another man I could name," she stated quietly.

He squeezed one of the hands that rested on his chest. "You've given me everything I've ever wanted out of life and more. Never think otherwise, Muirgen."

They stood like that for long moments, merely enjoying each other's touch. Finally Muirgen spoke. "Could he be convinced to adopt? It would fit his character, and you yourself are testimony to how well that can work out."

"Perhaps, but even an adopted son would face endless challenges to his legitimacy. And for all of Guinevere's kindness, I think she'd take it as an insult." He flushed. "I've considered… options. Confunding the two of them, or falsifying a pregnancy, or…" He shook his head. "Maybe if they weren't so dear to me I could do something… cold-blooded. But Arthur is my friend, and so is Guinevere. I couldn't do that to them. And so… here we are."

"Don't be ashamed for having principles," she replied with a squeeze.

"I'm not… but its painful, to see them hurt and not be able to help."

"I know," she said softly.

"Does it get easier?"

"Sometimes." Her voice was haunted. "And when it does, you should be afraid."


When Morgause finally struck, it was in a way Myrddin couldn't have anticipated.

It began when Arthur cried out in alarm from his bedchambers, his panic triggering a spell that alerted the archwizard. Myrddin apparated straight in, his staff at the ready.

What he saw had him nearly dropping his staff in shock. Arthur was on his bed, reeling away from a nude Guinevere, who was laughing in a manner that bordered on madness. The room smelled of sex; he would have been thrilled that the pair had rekindled their romance, except it couldn't be Guinevere, as the queen was still in the throne room.

Myrddin watched, horrified, as the woman in front of him shifted into Morgause, the polyjuice wearing off. She fixed him with a triumphant grin, and before the archwizard could even cast, she disapparated.

The incident was a hammer-blow to the royals' relationship. For all that Myrddin explained that Arthur had been victimized, that Morgause had capitalized on his unshakable love of his wife, the heart was never as easy to sway as the head. Arthur blamed himself, and Guinevere - her ego already badly wounded - took it as another slight, proof of her failure as a wife and queen. Myrddin, desperate to care for them both, realized that it was ultimately his fault… because he hadn't had the will to do what needed to be done.

Enraged, the wizard scoured Britannia, searching for the witch that he might correct that mistake. But if Morgause was still on the isle, she was hiding very carefully.

A shadow descended across Camelot. The chill between the king and queen couldn't be hidden, and Arthur was so despondent that rumours began to circulate that he was poisoned or ill. The surrounding lands began to show predatory interest, their eyes fixated on the riches of the ailing kingdom. King Leodegrance, stalwart though he was, had his own failing health to deal with, and so Myrddin found himself needed to make "visits" to the surrounding rulers, assuring them of Camelot's health and friendship and subtly promising disaster to any that became… greedy. Arthur's knights, particularly noble Percival, were thrust into making decisions that rightfully belonged to the king, or assuring the people that he was still fit to rule.

The years stretched into a decade, and Myrddin never felt older or more helpless. More and more he spent his evenings at the Hovel, trying to retreat into happier memories. Muirgen always knew what he needed. She didn't shower him with false assurances he would never believe. She simply gave him tea or a meal, and held him close at night… her body providing him with warmth he needed more and more as Camelot seemed to grow colder and darker.

It was one winter day when the castle was receiving petitioners that the extent of Morgause's plan was revealed.

Arthur and Guinevere sat upon their respective thrones, but for those who remembered, there was a space between the chairs that hadn't been there on their wedding day years before. Myrddin was pleased enough that the two had been coaxed to deal with the business of running the kingdom. It was the tiniest step toward improvement, but he reminded himself to be patient.

Nobles and merchants presented themselves, asking for favours or investment or approval; Arthur listened and judged. Myrddin stood behind the king at his right hand; he was really getting too old to be standing for such long periods, but he needed to appear as a strong, reassuring presence.

He lifted his chin suspiciously as a cloaked woman approached the throne, walking stiffly with a staff that was as tall as herself. She pushed a young boy ahead of her; a fair lad, pale and blond, but his blue eyes were clear, intelligent, and watching the gathered people with an awareness that seemed wrong for someone so young. He was tall and healthy for his age, just entering his teenage years... but those eyes seemed older, his gaze flat and cold.

Arthur leaned forward. "My Lady? What is it you need?" The woman said nothing; her son seemed to look the king over, then glanced up at her. "My Lady?"

"Is this the man who has my kingdom?" the boy said suddenly. The room went silent.

"Oh, yes, this is he," she replied, and Myrddin's blood ran cold at her voice. "He's the reason you're a squib. He has a lot to answer for."

"What is this?" Arthur barked. "You dare show such disrespect to me as I sit on my own throne? Show yourself!"

"Surely you haven't forgotten me, O Arthur? After that special night?" The woman cast back the hood of her cloak, letting them all see the face of the witch who still haunted their dreams. She was older, but her lasting beauty was marred by the malicious grin on her face.

The King's face paled, then flushed red. "You."

"Of course, me. And your son. Say hello, Medraut."

"Greetings, Father," replied the boy as everyone - royals, wizards, and knights - stared on in horror. The tow-headed boy looked up at the witch. "Do I kill him now, Mother?"

Morgause patted him on the head in twisted approval. "Not yet, dear. You're not quite ready for that yet… and neither is he. This is just… an introduction."

"This is a trick," Arthur said, even as he stared at the boy with fear and longing.

"Oh, hardly. Why the long face, sire? Surely you should feel vindicated… after all, this proves there's nothing wrong with you, but your unfortunate choice of breeding stock!" The witch cast a cruel glance at Guinevere.

The queen surged to her feet, wounded by the slight she'd repeated often enough to herself. "You disgusting harlot-"

"Ah, ah!" Morgause gestured with her staff, and a wave of force knocked the queen back into her throne with a cry, sending both tumbling backwards. The guards shouted with anger and drew their swords, but a spell from the witch sent them flying into the walls, crashing to the floor in a clatter of armour.

"Enough!" shouted Myrddin, sending a white bolt sizzling toward her. A blue shield sprang up around her, and the spell splashed against it with a flare of light.

She cackled. "I have a staff of my own now, Myrddin! I do see why you like it… the spells are so much bigger! How does it feel, to face someone on even ground?"

"It was never the staff, Morgause," he growled. "Expelliarmus!" Unlike his previous Disarming charm, he held back none of his strength. The blonde's shield blew apart like a clay pot hit with a lance, and the witch was hammered to the ground with a screech, her staff clattering across the stone floor.

He stalked forward, his staff ready, a cold fury settled in his heart. "I spared you once before, and you harmed those for whom I care. I learned my lesson as well! Diff-" He bit off the incantation as Medraut stepped in between the wizard and his mother. "Out of the way, boy!"

"No," was the child's only response, contempt twisting his lip.

"Her crimes are not yours, child, but she will be held accountable! Move!" The boy stood still, those disturbing blue eyes never wavering. The wizard's nostrils flared. "So be it."

"No! Myrddin!" Suddenly Arthur was in the way, holding his arms out and blocking his spells.

"Arthur, get out of the way!" the wizard barked. He slid sideways, trying to get a clear shot, but the boy moved with him, and so did the king. "Arthur!""

Behind the king, Morgause made a gesture and her staff flew into her hands. The boy grabbed her arm, and the throne room filled with the crack of their disapparition, leaving behind only shocked silence.

Myrddin cursed himself for a fool as he realized he hadn't adapted the wards to block apparating out. He stamped his staff on the ground in anger as he rounded on his liege. "What were you thinking? I'm supposed to protect you from magic users, and you're throwing yourself in front of their wands!"

"I wasn't going to let you kill the boy to get at his mother!"

Myrddin took a step back, appalled. "I was going to push him to the side! Do you really think I would kill a child? Has your faith in me fallen so low?"

Arthur seemed to crumple, and Myrddin regretted his words, true though they might be… for all that he was wrong, it had been good to see his friend motivated. "Forgive me. I just… I couldn't risk it."

"We have no proof that was your son, sire. And even if he is… he's spent his entire life being fed Morgause's poison. He's been taught to hate you, Arthur, since before he could speak! Do you think we could honestly undo that?"

"We must try! Otherwise…" Arthur shook his head, looking at the wizard with a pleading expression. "What would you do, Myrddin?"

The older man hesitated, glancing over at the queen who was being helped to her feet by one of the knights, her eyes refusing to look toward Myrddin or her husband. The righteous fury he'd felt a moment ago slipped away… just as he needed it most.

He sighed. "I would try."


"That disgusting, scheming wench! That insane, evil-" Myrddin paused from where he'd been angrily pacing the small space of the Hovel, struggling for words.

"Would 'psychotic bitch' work?" Muirgen suggested.

"Yes! Thank you!" Myrddin hadn't encountered the word before, but it was easy enough to figure out from the Latin. "She bore a child. She bore a child, and then spent thirteen years raising him… just to get revenge on me! She did that! Who does that?"

"I don't think you're giving her enough credit, Myrddin," Muirgen commented softly. She was still sitting in her bed, roused from sleep in the late evening by his sudden appearance and need to rant. Myrddin fixed her with an incredulous look. She raised a hand. "Listen to me. Yes, she's out to hurt you. But this… she saw an opportunity to steal a kingdom, Myrddin. She must have heard about their difficulties conceiving, somehow. And now she has Arthur's illegitimate heir, who's been taught to obey his mother and hate his father. If she can get him on the throne..."

"Never. Even without myself in the way, Arthur's knights would never stand for it."

"So she would take care of them herself."

"That still leaves me."

"What of you? Myrddin, your… guardianship… has been tolerated because you were protecting the king, a man who initially proved himself worth it. But if the other lands get it in their heads that you're just propping up a weak, ineffective king…"

He sank into a chair. "Then they'll just wait me out. Or throw in with her." He rubbed his face, suddenly exhausted. "You're being very kind."

"How so?"

"By not saying 'I told you so'."

"How would that help anything?" She slipped out of the bed, pulling her nightgown around herself. "Come, let's get you back to your bed. I can stay with you tonight, if it would help you rest."

"It would. Thank you, love."


Muirgen's presence helped chase away his worry and restlessness, if only for the night. The next day it began all over again as Arthur sent his knights to scour Wales and all of Britannia for signs of Morgause or her son. Did the king honestly think muggle knights would have more success than Myrddin himself? Morgause was obviously hiding underneath some strong wards… perhaps even a Fidelius. It galled him that she was using magic he'd helped perfect to hide from him.

If there was a bright side - and Myrddin knew he was reaching - it was that for the first time in over a decade, Arthur was acting with purpose and hope. Myrddin didn't want to dash those hopes.

The years dragged on, and so did the search. Then the sightings began… of a young man in black armour, wielding a pike. He would challenge the knights, wounding them… and then eventually killing them.

She's training him, Myrddin realized. Morgause is getting her son ready to wage war. Meanwhile there were rumours… rumours that Morgause was courting the goblins, raising an army for her son to lead. A horde of dark creatures to spear to Camelot, with a would-be usurper at their head.

Myrddin wasn't surprised that, with the hopelessness and the obsession of her husband, the wounds in their marriage, Guinevere would find unjudging comfort in the arms of one of those knights. He couldn't fault her for it. It was just another wound in a bond he'd once thought would last forever.

Myrddin spent more and more time in his tower, tutoring his latest apprentice and researching. There was joy to be had in that, at least; Simon was more than eager to learn magic. A young street rat Myrddin had found in the nearby village, the boy was an orphan, reminding the wizard far too much of himself in his youth. The happiness in the lad's face each time a new spell was mastered lifted Myrddin's own spirits.

Simon still had some unfortunate tendencies… he was always toying with new schemes to win the affections of a particular young witch in a nearby village, and was certain he needed to be a wealthy, powerful wizard to do so. Convincing him otherwise was slow-going… tales of Myrddin's start in the muddy streets of Londinium were met with wide-eyed disbelief. The archwizard of Camelot, Chief Warlock of the Order bearing his own name, and known consort to the queen of Avalon (Myrddin hoped Muirgen never caught wind of that moniker) stealing bread to survive? Outrageous!

Muirgen often visited in the depths of the night, quietly apparating into his room and slipping into bed with him, to be gone by the morning. He missed the days when he could make love to her until the dawn, but if she missed the physical pleasures of their relationship she never once complained. Instead she held him tightly, her youthful warmth filling his body and chasing away aches and worry. What would he do without her?

A sad thought occurred to him, and he pulled her sleeping form closer to him. What would she do without him?


It was a late spring night that found Myrddin working away in his private office in Camelot. The castle was utterly silent, except for the soft clomping of the knights patrolling the castle walls.

The knights of Camelot were ever-vigilant. Somewhere in the wilds of Britannia was the witch Morgause. The citizens had taken to calling her the 'Black Witch'... which Myrddin thought was odd, considering she was blonde and dressed in greys. With her was her dread son Medraut.

Myrddin's fear that the boy was being trained to war against Camelot had proven all too true. Having reached his nineteenth year, Arthur's son was actively hunting the knights of the Round Table, and the bodies were piling up. Each knight struck down was a blow against Arthur's authority… his knights, who were so loyal, felt as though they were being sent to their deaths with their sword-arms tied by orders to take Medraut alive.

The situation couldn't last. Eventually Arthur's men would leave of their own accord, his forces decimated without Morgause ever having to cast a spell.

Myrddin sighed, and arranged the notes that had been scattered across his desk into a single pile. To anyone else, they were covered in meaningless scribbles. Not only were they warded against unwelcome attention, they were kept encoded using a cipher that Myrddin kept nowhere except his own head. So paranoid was he about the contents, he never risked even temporary notes in plain language. He dared not risk anyone misunderstanding the contents… or worse, understanding.

Myrddin was trying to kill a phoenix.

Not in the literal sense, of course. It would be more accurate to say he was trying to cure their immortality. And the magical birds were not the intended recipients of the "cure", but that'd be a meaningless distinction were any other wizard or witch to discover what he was doing. Any right-thinking magical would be horrified, and he didn't want to associate with those who wouldn't be.

It was a project he'd been working on for nearly fifty years. So many false starts and wrong directions… he had so little to go on, and only one unknowing "patient". Muirgen remembered so little of her childhood, and what was left was fractured and out of order. Basilisks and Killing Curses and snake-faced men, vague impressions of horror and loss… broken up only by the remembered faces of friends whom she described with a devotion bordering on worship. He liked hearing her talk about them, but it didn't offer much to his research.

It wasn't until he'd begun to talk more with the phoenixes of Avalon that he'd really started to make progress. The language barrier was a problem, but he'd gained a feeling for what they were trying to say. He'd learned that the phoenixes felt concerned about Muirgen… or more specifically, they felt guilty. They were almost obsessed with her, and their guilt manifested as a hovering overprotectiveness that drove her to fury.

Why were they guilty? What had they done to her, accidentally or deliberately? He didn't know, and they couldn't explain. But it had given him ideas.

He chased theories for years. Though she shared traits with the birds, such as her immunity to permanent death and her proclivity for fire, it wasn't a form of lycanthropy. She wasn't undead, obviously, nor subject to any other necromantic magic. Beyond that, he had little else to go on.

Myrddin felt guilty that he'd made so little progress since Morgause and her misbegotten son had started making trouble. And he felt guilty that he was enjoying the challenge so much… whenever the stresses of life grew unbearable, when Muirgen wasn't around and it wasn't time for Simon's lessons, this was his escape: trying to end the life of a woman he loved so much.

He didn't have a cure for her, not yet. Not a way for her to live and age like any other mortal. But he was close to an option he hoped she wouldn't choose but he would never deny her. He just had to keep working at it.

But working would have to wait. He was bleary-eyed, and even the Ever-Burn charms on the candles were starting to wear out. He needed sleep.

Myrddin stood and stretched, feeling his hundred-and-fifteen years. Though he was spry for his age, he really was getting too old to work overnight hunched over at a desk on a hard chair, cushioning charms or not. Extinguishing the lights, he unlocked his door and moved out into the lab that he and Simon maintained together.

"Simon?" He raised an eyebrow as he emerged into darkness. His apprentice was nowhere in sight… which was very much against Myrddin's orders and that of the king. Simon was supposed to be guarding the lab and Myrddin himself as he worked. The young man was nowhere to be seen.

"Simon! Bah, not again," he sighed. He'd warned the lad about doing this… he was going to have to think of some suitable punishment, or perhaps even expel him from his apprenticeship. It was part of the conditions of his instruction, insisted upon by Arthur himself. Myrddin couldn't have muggles in his lab… some of his experiments were dangerous, so he couldn't have knights guarding him. Nor could he ward the area like he had his bedchambers. So Simon was supposed to stand guard, simply greeting visitors while practicing his own magic, while his Master lost himself in his work. Except, apparently, the young man had decided to skive off his duties… again.

Simon was lucky Myrddin was so forgiving… the king would have had him whipped. But apparently Myrddin had been too generous too often. He sighed again, not looking forward to the conversation that would be necessary the next morning.

Shaking his head, he set about locking up the lab before heading up the tower to his bedchambers. A ripple in the corner of his vision caught his eye, and he turned to stare into the darkness. "Simon?" No answer; worried, Myrddin Called his staff, and the golden glow as it appeared briefly illuminated the room.

The light played wrong across a transparent human shape beside him. A Disillusionment spell! Myrddin danced backwards, staff rising, but the intruder was too quick; a strong arm blocked Myrddin's, seizing and pulling, and he felt a pinch in his back, just below his ribs. The swift motion was too much for the magical camouflage; falling away, the charm dispelled to reveal Medraut, clad in black leather armour.

The fair-haired boy could have been considered handsome, if not for the malicious grin on his face as he pulled his dagger free from Myrddin's body. Strength fled Myrddin's legs, his assassin seizing his robes and holding up upright. Astonishment filled the wizard even as his blood deserted him… shouldn't it hurt more? For an irrational moment, he felt cheated. His staff slipped from nerveless fingers, clattering upon the stone floor. He tried to lift his hand to cast wandlessly, but his body was betraying him. It was only Medraut's own grip that kept him upright, and judging from the evil wretch's grin he was well aware of it.

The blackguard's gloating face filled him with an alien emotion, and it took him a moment to realize it was hate. If he was going to die, he was going to take this upstart with him! Fire burned his veins, and he summoned all his power to cast a Blasting hex... wordlessly, wandlessly, with nothing more than his will. The two men were blown away from each other in a burst of expanding air, shattering the room, wrecking the lab's experiments and reducing the large table to splinters. Myrddin fetched up against a wall while his opponent was blown through the closed shutters of the tower window.

His ears rang too badly to hear what kind of impact the boy might have made upon the ground. But he soon could hear shouting and the running of knights; good, the alarm was raised.

But too late for him. His vision was growing dark, and the ringing of his ears seemed to have settled into a high-pitched whine. He was slipping away, and there would be no glorious rebirth in fire for him.

So this was the end Muirgen had known was coming. And a surprise, at that! He'd thought Morgause would simply get lucky with a spell. He actually felt better about that… losing to her would have been insufferable.

He wasn't sad for himself. He'd had more time than he'd expected, and he was pleased with what he'd accomplished within it, despite all that was left undone. But he thought of his Mistress… his lover and friend, left behind in a small hovel in Pictland. I'm sorry, Jasmine. Go on without me, love.

Stamping footsteps were dashing up the stairs to his tower. He would be gone before they arrived. Should he say something heroic in the meantime? Hadn't he once spent an entire night writing up dramatic and brilliant epitaphs?

"I wish I had my notes," he rasped. His eyelids were heavy, and a peaceful laziness fell over him. He closed his eyes.


Far to the north, in the land of the Picts, in a small but warm home carved into a hillside, water spilled as a copper kettle reverted back to the lumps of metal from which it had been spelled.

"Eh? Oh… Oh no. Oh, no, no, no-"